


Snip and Gloss

by andobatched



Series: Snip and Gloss [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Haircuts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andobatched/pseuds/andobatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams are meant to come true, even if it happens later in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Why do Anderson and Sherlock hate each other?

It all happened in the summer of 1975, when two starry eyed lovers consummated their marriage in the shinning city of Venice - each one having the burden of a catholic family - now, finally, they got a chance to really express their love for one another. It was passion that night and nobody could deny that the medical doctor to be and the nurse in training had it. Nine months down the line, life had been brought into the world and their family unit was completed – perfection at last.

Eighteen years had passed since that summer, since the birth of the two lover's son and what a change had happened. The medical doctor to be was now a coroner, his wife was a neurologist and their expectations of the life that they had brought into the world were different now. They expected so much of him and never wanted anything more than the best – no pressure then. While they would argue for long hours about what university they wanted him to attend, their son – Pablo – struggled with his identity and what he really wanted to achieve. He didn't want to be a doctor, he didn't want to go into forensic science like his father, he wanted something more and different. His dreams were just dreams though and no matter how he tried to explain to his parents what he truly wanted, they always denied him it, and they said how it was a disappointment that he wanted to do what he wanted. Pablo had tried to see it their way but there was longing in his heart to follow his dream, to do that one thing. He had passion for it, passion that his parents once had.

It was the 1990s and teenagers no longer were under their parents' thumb. Pablo wasn't going to be controlled by his parents anymore, he was going to escape and do what he always wanted to do.

At the age of ten, Pablo found that he was good with a pair of scissors, after a mishap with his cousins hair and a match, Pablo sniped around the burnt ends of her hair and tried to 'sort it out'. Even at that age he seemed to have some sort of flair with the scissors and managed to create what was now known as 'the pixie cut'. After that, he would sit with his cousins' Barbie dolls and other toys with hair and cut at them, styling and using little bits of gel to spike up their hair. His father found out about his sons' idea of 'fun' and banned it, shoving books of medicine in his son's face and replacing those that contained anything about hairdressing. Trips to hairdressers were rather tense from then on, for Pablo wanted to sit and watch as the hairdressers cut at the hair and washed it, he loved the idea of just creating a new style, experimenting, but was never allowed. It was his passion, it was his dream, he was going to become hairstylist

But Pablo just couldn't become one, his parents wouldn't allow it and were ashamed and upset that their only child, their son, wanted to become something so unlike their ideals. He was forced into taking medicine, was forced to apply for medical school in London and their dreams of opening up their own salon were dashed.

_Or was it_


	2. The applicant

The hallway of the London Hair Academy was packed with students holding boxes of pins and rollers – they clutched them tightly to their chests in fear of someone stealing them. Some had large makeup bags containing powder and brushes, some students had even taken loans out just to afford the equipment. Confidence was leaking from each of the candidates; it was sickening to see as a young woman was making chopping actions in the air with her fingers. It was obvious that there were more girls' than boys in the corridor but the men that were there were very typical 'hair and beauty students'. They were very tall and good looking – plain faced and seemingly unimpressed by anything, but what they made up for in looks, they lacked in personality and originality. That being said, not all of all of them were like that – there was one face that looked out of place amongst the crowd. Pablo.

A fresh face eighteen year old with bad skin and windswept hair, Pablo looked like he belonged in an acne cream testing lab rather than in a hair and beauty academy. While the other students seemed to have donned their best materials and stylist uniforms, he had opted for borrowed brushes and second hand clothes that his cousin had lent him, a white shirt with hair dye stains on the back and some baggy suit trousers. Everything that was in his see-through makeup bag needed to be replaced, even the bag needed to be replaced for it was falling apart and he had to hold it shut as the zipper was broke. The other applicants had shunted away from Pablo, seeing him as unworthy of sharing their oxygen and left him to stand on his own. One other boy was there that didn't seem to fit in – he was aesthetically pleasing and he all the right equipment but there was just something about him which screamed 'weirdo', maybe it was his frizz of curly dark hair or his hooded eyes, but the moment that Pablo laid eyes on this boy, he knew that competition was afoot.

The others there also were competition but their hearts weren't pounding like his and they didn't seem to want or need it as badly as he did, but this other boy, the dark haired one, there was a passion in their eyes that matched Pablo's'. There was a hint of fear within each of their eyes, knowing full well that what lay behind the black door that was down the hallway.

"Those attending the Hairdressing application class, please follow me" a man with a clipboard paraded through the crowd, he parted the students in his wake – the word parade is most suited for him, for he walked with one hand on his hip, the other holding the clipboard and he stuttered with a sort of 'look at me' way that Pablo could only compare them to a peacock.

Pablo followed them with his eyes, watching how they flicked their black, long hair and coughed. They must be a teacher. Everyone went quiet, the door opened ahead of them and began to make their way through to the hair studio, "Everyone has their own sink and manikin, please, don't knock them over" the man drawled on, their voice grating on Pablo.

The studio was large, the biggest and only studio that Pablo had seen, the walls were ghastly pink and it had mirrors lining both sides. Fourteen sinks were in the centre of the room, normally a where client would be sat but for the applicants, there were just manikins heads on sticks. Pablo picked a sink near the fire exit, towards the back of the room were a window was, a little bit open so it was letting a draft in.

He was nervous, not just about what he was doing now but because of what his parent's reaction would be when he got home. Pablo had applied for this on the off chance of being offered a place and a week later after sending a form by post, he had got one back saying that he was to attend a session and maybe have a chance of being picked. He had been so excited but, of course, everything had to be hidden from his parents. Today he had told his mother that he was spending the day in central London with friends, his cousin had vouched for him and so, that very morning, at nine, Pablo left his home in Islington and got a tube to Tottneham Court Road. Yes, he was thrilled at the chance of being here but then there was the journey back and what if his father found out? Pablo just had to swallow his fear and get through the day; after all, he might not get in so there was nothing to worry about.

But what happened if he did get in?

The curly haired boy that Pablo had seen outside took a sink next to him, of course they had to, it was almost fate that they would. "Good luck" it was only polite to say something like that and Pablo had been raised by two very well mannered professionals who would rather had their fingers chopped off than never wish someone a good morning. The boy simply smirked at the greeting and turned his head away from Pablo – it seemed that manners only stretched so far.

Students from outside gathered into the room, each one taking their own sink and trying to seem bigger than they really were – Pablo felt rather small and pathetic, maybe this was a bad idea?

"Quiet please, please" that same voice grated in Pablo's ear, the teacher with the clipboard had called attention to the gathered students, all eyes were on him now, all of them and there was a sense of doom and dread bubbling up in Pablo's body. If he left now then he wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of going through with it.

"Today's exam is all about finding out about what areas you are most, apt in-"as the teacher spoke they rolled their wrist and paced back and forth in front of the potential students, "-first we have the hair dressing exam-" they paused mid sentence and gestured to the array of sinks"-now, the theme for today's' hair do is-"paper shifted on the clipboard as the teacher rifled through his notes before finding the right date. Pablo held his breath. "Ninety Fifties, now go on, get on with it"

Panic filled Pablo's rather scrawny teenage body, he hadn't done this before, he couldn't remember ever, in his whole history of haircutting, ever doing this style. "Perhaps it is you that needs the luck" it wasn't a question, it was a sly statement made by the dark eyed curly haired boy, a smirk on their face. Pablo swallowed thickly, his anxiety now showing with every breath he took. Sweat was stuck his hair to his forehead, he placed his see through plastic bag onto the table by the sink, he fiddled around with the broke zipper till it opened up and removed his slightly rusted pair of scissors. "I'll be just fine" of course he lied, but now it seemed that Pablo had a reason to stay, to show this smug arsehole what he was made of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be updated soon.


	3. The mistake

_Wash, dry, rollers perm,_

That was all he had to remember.

The damned rollers wouldn't stay in and the pins kept falling out. Pablo as he fiddled with the plastic cylinders. All the time he could hear his father's voice in his head and how disappointed they were in him. Medical school was not where he wanted to end up, Pablo didn't want to be spending his day at his crime scene or writing in journals about how long a corpse had been in a freezer for. His passion was this, creating hairstyles, making someone happy, changing who they were with just a simple snip of his scissors.

 The boy next to him seemed to be pulling back their manikin’s hair into a pony tail and then snipping away, a clip was clamped between their teeth and there was a look of concentration in their eyes that made Pablo fear that this just wasn't for him. His tools were worn down, they weren't the best and he was sure as hell that he looked out of place amongst the sea of good looking young women and men. Maybe he should just go now. No - he couldn't. This might be his only chance to show his parents what he could really do.

The style was going to be curled hair, a slight perm but one that could be washed out with no worries of having to sit through another hour or so or rolling. Pablo prepped the rollers in the plastic container that was on the work station - all students had been supplied with hair dryers, rollers and straightens, it was only fair to supply these but the rest of the tools were their own. First Pablo prepped the manikin’s hair by brushing it out to remove at notes, he washed it with some peppermint shampoo, getting right into the scalped and the blow dried it. The boy next to him was still cutting away. Pablo couldn't worry about that. He reached to the plug and switched on the rollers. It wouldn't take them long to heat up which gave him some to inspect the dolls hair. She had thick hair which was good for curling and not to long, how the Gods had shined down on him.

 A red light on the top of the curlers box turned green, Pablo lifted the clean plastic lid and picked up the first roller - a large purple one. Where the dolls fringe was, Pablo began to wrap her hair in the centre of the head starting at the front, he secured the roller with a clip and repeated the action another three times till the rollers were parallel to each other on the top of her head.

Next he picked up a slightly smaller purple roller and rolled the girls hair on the side of its head towards them - once again, securing the roller with a clip. Over the next five minutes, Pablo worked quickly, ensuring that the rollers stayed in place, he couldn't afford for them to fall out now. Once her whole head was covered in rollers he began to undo them. Its hair fell around either side of its head and down to its sides. The rest of the students were cutting and snipping, the sound of hair dryers and water splashing reached Pablo's ears. The boy next to seem to be still cutting but there was a smirk on their face that just filled Pablo with annoyance, what were they so happy about? Surely they were in the same positron as Pablo though maybe their parents knew of their talents and were happy with their son going away and doing this. Pablo gritted his teeth together and quickly applied hairspray to the manikin’s hair, and brushed out her fringe. Pablo picked up some brylcreem and swept it through its fringe, he was making a pompadour. He brushed it up, twisted the hair to the side and secured it with hairspray.

 

"Very good, very good" the voice from behind droned, Pablo shot around to see the boy doing some sort of female version of a shot back and sides with a quiff, "It's just a shame really, seeing as no one is here to be proud of you for your...triumph" the way that they were speaking, it was though they knew, how their eyes narrowed, how their mouth went up at the side with then smiled, Pablo had to try his best not to punch the boy, "Just get on with your assessment" he snapped and turned back around, he didn't miss them laughing at him and the unmistaken muttering of "Daddy will not be pleased"

That was it; Pablo had had enough of. His whole body snapped and before he could stop himself he had punched the other boy in the face.

And that was it.

It was over.

He spent the remainder of the exam in an office with the other boy apologizing and begging and his parents were called. When they came, his father just took one look at Pablo and pointed his finger at the door.

"You are thankful that Mr Holmes here isn't pressing chargers, Pablo" the head of the school whined, but Pablo wasn't listening, he was far too upset. He was far too withdrawn to care that his life was now locked in medical school and that hairdressing was just over for him. No more dreams. No nothing and all because of the git Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At little short but just to add some more depth to it - the next chapter will be up soon.


	4. Philip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years after the incident, Anderson is a changed man but is the man he wanted to be and will he ever have a chance for his dreams to come true?

**2 nd May 2012, London, 10:00am**

 The time had just 10:00am, the busy streets of London were filled with the early morning traffic and big ben was ringing out to let them all know that they were probably all late for work. It is a common misconception that London is full of rude and self centred people but one only has to look upon St James tube station to see a dark haired man giving some change to a homeless man perched by the metro stand. The man in question seemed to be in a hurry but still had time to give money to those in need. It should also be noted that this man wasn’t late for work, but early – he’d been called in by the DI to give the reports that he conclude from his previous scene and also, it seemed, that there was a new job to be had. Forensics was an exciting job to have and it had served the man well for a number of years now, he’d even met his current wife on the job so he had that much to thank for it. It was a shame that everything else had to be put aside, dreams, goals, a life – it was all about the work and nothing else. Hardly what would be considered an ideal job for someone who enjoyed having a social life, it made people a recluse, always working and never being there for their family.

The man buzzed himself into the building with his key card and headed up the stairs to the right department. Scotland Yard was brimming with people today, London was high alert, the Olympics was only a few months away and there was still time for things to go – a country coming together to protect such an old age tradition, it was rather heart warming. But the dark haired man had no time to let that settle over him; he had an appointment to get too. As soon as the lift doors opened onto the fourth floor there was a familiar face, a young woman, Sally, whom he had a weak spot for, a very weak spot, greeted him.

 “Moring Philip” she sounded rather happy, which was always a good sign that today was going to go well, “Got the email about the time change?” she asked, handing him a black folder which contained details of the new case, Philip, the man with the dark hair, looked a little confused. 

“Time change? -“ He hoped he hadn’t been late, or missed it, he’d come in early just because the tubes were playing up. Sally pointed towards the end office with the glass windows, which seemed to be slowly being filled with various offices and other departments,

“It’s starting now, I was going to come down and give you a call, Greg’s in a bit a manic mood today” she talked as they walked, and of course, Sally was right for Greg was pacing up and down in the office, his hair sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it. Philip had seen this before and it meant that this was serious and not to be taken lightly. He held back, just enough time to open the file and see the picture attached – this didn’t look good, a young girl had gone missing but this wasn’t the missing persons department for, her hand had been sent back to the parents with a note that spoke of sending her body back in pieces until they gave over the expected money. It made Andersons’ stomach churn.

 “Right, good, everyone in-“ Greg surveyed the room, making sure that all the right departments were here, even the child protection forces were in, given that the girl was only fifteen. “This is serious, and we have our best forces working on this-“ on those exact words, everyone’s phones began to rumble and vibrate and the works ‘ ** _No you don’t_** ’ appeared in a text messages. Philip scowled at his phone, Sally looked like she was about to throw a fit, and Greg tried to ignore it. “From the details of the hand, she is still alive and there is a good chance of finding her but we need everyone to work together on this, Anderson-“

Philip craned his neck up and raised his hand,

“-We needs you to do further inspection of the hand, any details that you can find, anything at all, report back to us. I’ve sent the hand to Bart’s” Philip nodded his head and left the room. Just as it did, his phone went off,

**  Text:  Unknown | Let’s see who can get there first **

 Philip stuffed his phone into his pocket and started to quick march to the lift, it opened and he jabbed the ground floor button several times, hoping that this would make it go faster. An impatient grunt came from his throat and finally the doors closed shut. “Come on, come on-,” he mumbled, the numbers in the lift were slowly going down. Finally, the ground floor appeared on the digital display and he ran out the lift, scanned his key card and shoved open the gate. No one raised an eyebrow, they were used to people running in and out, but maybe the angry muttering made Philip look a little crazed. He pushed open the door to the left of the revolving ones and made haste to the tube station. His phone went off again.

**Unknown | Maybe you should reconsider your job if you can’t even do it properly.**

 Philip enjoyed the text, he wasn’t going to stoop to their level at all and once he was on the tube, he wouldn’t have to deal with their taunts anymore. Not since that day that Sherlock ruined everything for him, it was their fault he was here now, racing against time to get to the lab to do his job. It should be noted that Philip is not Philip’s birth name; he changed it when he finally moved out the family home and got his own flat. He couldn’t have that name anymore, it was a name that made him feel free and feel different, now he was just…Philip, Philip boring Anderson who was stuck in a job that he hated. He had tried to do hairdressing in his later years, but somehow he just didn’t have the heart anymore and then he got offered a job working for a agency that was associated with Scotland Yard and the money was just right. What he didn’t know was that Sherlock Holmes was also going to be there. The moment Philip saw Sherlock standing there he felt his heart drop, he had thought he had escaped that man, but they had come crawling back out of the darkness to haunt Philip and show him again that they just weren’t right for any job. It had made him feel small, belittled, not worth anything but he wasn’t going to get them win this time. He had gotten to this stage in his life where his parents were dead, he didn’t have them to breath down his neck, and he was independent of them, so why was he still doing what his father wanted him to do? He could still recall his words as Philip had made his way home from London,  ** _‘How dare you, how dare you go against us, you are an embarrassment’_**

_'You are an embarrassment'_ He sat on the tube, holding his hands tight together, eyes focused on the window opposite him. Philip couldn’t help but have that shadow, those words floating above his head like a cloud ready to break at any moment.

**  2nd May 2012, London, 10:40am **

 “He’s not here-“ Anderson breathed out as he entered the lab, a satisfied small gracing his face. There, on the table, was the hand in – well, it was in a cooled box and not just lay out on the table like some meat. He sighed in relief, tiny beads of sweat had rolled off his face for he had ran from St Pauls’ tube station to Barts – must have looked a right state. Philip walked over to the box, a bounce in his step, and opened the cooling box to find the hand still in there. Very carefully, Anderson removed the hand from the box and got the toolkit that was kept under the sink – he unlocked it and crouched down to the top level of the table to start inspecting it. The door opened, and there was an annoyed mumble, Anderson grinned.

“How on earth did you beat me?” Sherlock ranted off and stomped round to the other side of the table, watching Anderson with envious eyes. He didn’t answer Sherlock; he would let them suffer for a little longer while he lifted up some skin to inspect the muscle and where the hand had been cut. After two minutes of silence, par Sherlock’s finger tapping, Anderson stood up straight.

“Maybe I’m just better” Philip felt so proud of his answer, screw what Sherlock said, he didn’t care and frankly, it wasn’t needed right now. To add insult to injury, Anderson pointed a gloved finger to Sherlock’s hair, “Cut it yourself?” Sherlock glared at him and took some loose ends behind his ears. “Should have got me to do it, at least it would have looked half decent”

The detective was speechless, his fingers gripped tight together and leaned off the desk to storm out the room, but before, Anderson got one more remark in, “-and John’s hair, really Sherlock, classic mistake” It had been wonderful getting one up on Sherlock, to give him a taste of his own medicine but even when Sherlock had left the room in a dramatic coat swirl, it just didn’t feel as great as Philip had thought. He wanted more, he wanted to go back to what he was doing but miracles just didn’t happen.

_Or did they?_

 For at that very moment, Molly Hooper ran through the door, a panicked look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Anderson asked, putting down his scalpel and eyeing the young lady who was trying to get her phone out her pocket.

“I have a date tonight and my hair dresser just cancelled on me!”

“Molly-I think I know someone who can fix it for you”

Every cloud had a silver lining.


End file.
